


delirium tremors

by princepixel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Abstract, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Character Study, Coming of Age, Gaslighting, Gen, Heavy Metaphors, Implied Neglect, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Open to Interpretation, Poetic, Psychological, Unreliable Narrator, between renjun and his....mother........not noren, blood mention, literary devices, poetic prose, renjun centric, romance isn't a focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princepixel/pseuds/princepixel
Summary: renjun is eighteen and tired of living in someone else's nightmare.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	delirium tremors

**Author's Note:**

> my submission to the [nct + wayv fleur zine!](https://twitter.com/nctwayv_fleur)
> 
> i listened to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6aP13c5MWAE) on repeat while writing C:  
> and a big endless thank you to [vicky](https://twitter.com/xusocks) for being my wonderful wonderful beta <33333 MWAH!

renjun's first winter comes to an end after eighteen years.

though his heart beats steady and his cheeks flush a healthy, ruddy red, a lingering frost coats renjun's weary bones. blood sludges thickly underneath milky skin like a lake on the brink of freezing. no matter how many times he melts into the three a.m shadows, fingers desperately stretching towards the thermostat, the chill clinging to his organs like a second skin never falters. he can feel it settle into the crevices of his brain, shattered shards of ice crawling up his throat and skewering his tongue where it lies.

it's okay. renjun brushes two shaking fingers over his lips, shuddering at the goosebumps that erupt over his arm.

he doesn't have much to say, anyways.

❀❀❀

renjun has grown to resent the color white.

it drenches his world from top to bottom, from bedroom walls that cast dripping shadows over him at night and collapse as the sun emerges from her slumber, to paper-thin clothes that the blustering winds always cut right through. even the furniture is bleach white and fragile to the touch.

 _how bleak_. he presses a fingertip into one of the misshapen globs of paint dotting the walls. _at least there's some texture to the swirls_.

it becomes a habit to run his fingers along the cracked paint, the rough ridges just enough to keep his feet planted on the ground.

renjun glides through life like an apparition, a wispy excuse for a boy, disconnected from the monotonous drone of the blizzard raging outside his window. some nights it feels like no footsteps would follow him if he ventured into the snow, the significance of his existence not strong enough to dent the delicate flakes. the world cowers from his touch, water undisturbed even as he dips his hands into it. he would doubt his own presence if not for the creak of the chair as he sits down for dinner-- always next to his mother, never across.

 _never._ renjun's cheek stings at a memory stashed just out of reach.

nothing but the hum of the storm and the screech of fingernails against wood float through the stale air. they're flimsy ways to mark the fading of dusk into dawn, but it's all he has. it's better than scratching tally marks into the lumpy paint. he tried that once, but stopped in fear of what may lie beneath the layers.

biting wind stings at his eyes, and he pulls the tissue paper bedsheets tighter around his shoulders. the gusts hiss with poison as they whistle by his ear, threading through his veins and bursting from behind his chattering teeth. the sun should be high in the sky at this point in the day, but he can only feel the jagged edge of freezer burn nipping at his cheeks.

no matter how hard renjun looks, he can never find the source of the draft. it's strange.

after all, their windows have been boarded up for years.

❀❀❀

there's an ever present thrumming underneath renjun's skin, a subtle prickle along the back of his neck that screams _things weren't always this way._

it amplifies every time he nears the vase resting on the white, white, _white_ tablecloth. it's the only splash of color in his world, muted green stalks enclosed within pristine glass walls.

there's a memory there, ink smeared and yellowed around the edges, but a memory nonetheless.

_"what are these, mama?" his voice pitches with anxiety, words hesitant to touch the brisk air. the vase sits on his nightstand just like it has for all seven years of renjun's life, stagnant and lifeless. renjun feels a glimmer of empathy for the poor bulbs screwed shut atop the stems._

_"snowdrop flowers. they're the first to bloom at springtime." his mother's voice is honey in his hands, sticky against the peeling paint. the warmth of her palm stroking his hair back sends chills down his spine, long fingernails grazing tender skin._

_dark sheets tuck him in snugly. the color escapes him, but the sensation doesn't-- too tight, like shackles around his wrists._

_a pitiful frown mars renjun's face, youthful features not yet tarnished with melancholy or rusted by apathy._

_"but mama, they've never bloomed."_

_sunflowers blink at him from the opposite wall. though their smiles are inviting, he's not sure flowers are meant to have such sharp teeth. there's an odd smudge across their petals as if the painter collapsed mid stroke-- dark, ugly splatters eclipsing soft golds and greens._

_renjun hunts for a spark of recognition, but the color is too muddy to discern._

_"i know, dear." her nails prick his skin just a fraction too hard. a flicker of warning ignites in his chest at the glassy look in her eyes and the frost webbing from the spot where her fingertips rest on his forehead. it passes after a few moments, but renjun chews on his lip._

_it lasted longer this time._

_the bitter tang of metal and the dripping sunflowers are his only lullabies that night._

renjun frowns at the pale green buds that have yet to flower in all his fourteen years, wondering what secrets they stash from prying eyes. perhaps they, like him, open when the sun succumbs to the horizon, flourishing in the hours after the locked doors stop trembling and before the howling tears apart the delicate fabric of night.

they'll never bloom. renjun turns away. they must be dead by now, especially going so long without any water in the vase.

a distant memory crumbles like ash in the back of his throat.

❀❀❀

"i want to go out, mom."

_i want to go to school, not be locked away in my room. i need to see what the world is like, feel the sunshine against my skin and the rush of rain on fresh pavement. i don't care if the blizzard tears my head from my body. it's better than wasting away between these dusty floorboards._

_i don't know what you're afraid of, but i want no part of it._

renjun is fifteen and spends his days staring at the backs of the thick boards plastered over his window.

"don't be silly, dear." her cutlery scrapes against the white, white, _white_ porcelain plate, mood only betrayed by the tendons protruding from her skin, the line of tension stringing along her shoulders. "you have nowhere to go."

she doesn't meet his eyes.

"but--" renjun flinches back when she stands up abruptly, chair squeaking against polished tile. she harshly deposits her plate in the sink, turning back to him with a sympathetic smile. there's an edge to it that he can't quite place, but it makes the hairs on his arm rise.

she crosses the tiny kitchen, leaning down to cup his cheek softly in her hand. after running a thumb over his cheekbone, she steps back, looming over the boy like he's gum under her heel and clicking her tongue in disappointment.

"besides, you're too ill to leave. don't you remember?"

renjun suddenly registers the trembling in his hands, the roaring of blood against his eardrums, the tremors of terror shredding at his vocal cords. his knuckles flash white, white, _white_ from where his hands are clamped around the arms of his chair, and he can feel a ringing in his ears, a jarring dizziness that threatens to warp the world under his feet.

ill, that's right. that's right. too ill to leave. too fragile to dream.

renjun should remember that next time.

❀❀❀

renjun is sixteen and the color in his mother's face is gone.

there's a small gap between two of the slabs of wood closing renjun off from the rest of the world-- a world that he hopes is real, is more than the snowdrifts building up outside his window. as much as he prays that there's something out there, it feels as fragile as a fairytale between his fingertips, wisps of a pipe dream escaping his lips alongside the breath fogging up the windowpane.

how can you believe in something you've never seen?

renjun scratches at the scar on his forehead again. that's not right. isn't it?

there's that itch between his ribcage again, but every time he reaches too far back in his brain he emerges with nothing but icicles embedded in brittle flesh. there's something frozen solid back there, something he doesn't dare to disturb. there's nothing to melt it, anyways.

not in this winter.

no light shines into his room, not even through the sliver of space between the boards. he doesn't bother trying to pry them off. the nails are set far too deep into the frame, the glass underneath likely locked tight with a key swallowed behind his mother's lips. there's no point to it, either. renjun doesn't have the strength to remove them, nor the willpower to survive whatever is out there on his own-- if there's anything.

that's not right. isn't it?

renjun's hands quiver. before the dizziness can cleanse his body of any traces of defiance, he draws the curtains shut. he's not sure why he's so desperate to cover up the breach in their fortress. his mom never enters his room anymore, but something coiled deep in his stomach warns him that she won't like it if she ever finds out.

it's not like he can see much, peering between the rotting wood. there's nothing but white, white, _white_ snow beating against the side of the home, swirling winds spiriting away those who are foolish enough to step into the storm.

renjun can't see even a foot into the murky fog, but the sinking of his heart whispers that the world must be blank, lifeless, _white_ , just like his haphazardly painted walls.

the scrape of metal on metal echoes sharply through the room. the lack of objects within it renders the plastered walls unable to cushion the sound, bouncing it in full force to the dreary boy at the window. renjun sighs.

she didn't forget, tonight.

renjun lays in his bed like a corpse in a coffin of ice. he could have sworn it was noon just minutes ago. the clock must have ticked over to night without him noticing. how could he, in a room estranged from time?

all he has is his mother's word and the turning of a key in the lock.

there's a spark of anger in his blood, an urge to rattle the jammed door knob and smash two fists through the rotting boards and prove his mother wrong, wrong, _wrong._ but the weakness in his bones flares up at the thought, spidery frost extinguishing the ludicrous idea.

no, his mother is right. she's just trying to keep him safe. he resigns himself to the ever present darkness thickening the air, since there's nothing else to do but sleep. a distant glimmer drifts across his fading consciousness.

_there has to be more to living than this._

he wonders if he'll ever find it.

❀❀❀

renjun is seventeen when something shifts.

he brushes aside the curtain, expecting more of the same bleak mist. the familiar storm still rages beyond the glass, and renjun exhales as he rests his forehead against the splintery wood. he doesn't know what he expected. when he moves to close the curtains in disappointment, his gaze snags on a flutter of movement.

heart leaping into his throat, renjun presses his face further into the frame, desperately trying to pin down a shape in the ever shifting blanket of white. there's a split second where the fog bends away, and that's how renjun catches a glimpse of a silhouette framed by a window just like his. he can't tear his eyes away, pulse pounding in his ears, until the figure leans back, irises flashing as they meet renjun's gaze.

renjun plummets to the floor, back pressed to the wall in terror. his chest stutters and his eyes are blown wide, but the curtains above his head are still despite the screeching wind. one hand clamped over his mouth, he waits a few minutes until his breath evens out.

_what have i done?_

cautiously, renjun peeks through the gap again, pent up curiosity triumphing over ice cold fear of the unknown. his mother always warned him about the dangers of the world, squashing his childlike wonder in the palm of her hand. he knows he should listen, should bow his head and sew his mouth shut and assimilate into the spirals of paint on the wall, but the buzzing in his bones-- it _burns._

he barely catches sight of the empty window before the storm envelopes it for good.

of course. renjun tips his head back against the wall, hand fisted over his heart. he can feel it beating beneath his skin, but just barely.

hope is foolish.

renjun should remember that next time.

❀❀❀

it happens sooner than he expects-- not that he's learned to expect anything, not even the rise and fall of his own chest.

renjun tries the doorknob, but it's still locked. he frowns, tracing patterns into the layered paint on the door. he thought it would have been morning by now.

that's okay. morning hasn't come for three days now, which means it must be getting close.

scuff marks line the floor from years of pacing. he falls back on the worn track, because at least the sound of his footsteps reminds him of his existence and drowns out the electricity crackling in his muscles.

renjun wishes he could hum. his fingers prod at the spot where neck meets collarbone, unsure of where that desire came from.

he never speaks these days, stricken by the razors edging his mother's gaze. even if he could sing, there's not a melody in his head to grasp at. he hasn't listened to music in years. his mother says he always hated it.

that's not right. isn't it?

hesitantly, he opens his mouth. before he can speak, another voice drifts through the air.

"hello?"

renjun's jaw snaps shut in shock. it isn't until his hands meet wood that he realizes his feet, oblivious to the sirens firing in his brain, have carried him to the window.

"hello...?"

there's a sharp intake of breath, and renjun slams a hand over his face in horror as he understands that it came from himself. the sound is mirrored on the other side of the window, and renjun's pulse picks up.

“oh, you're there after all! my parents told me that no one has lived in this place for years, but i knew that wasn't right."

renjun's forehead itches. isn't it?

"anyway, my name's jeno. i won't bother you for too long, but you looked-- ah-- lonely, last week. i hope you like it."

there's the sound of wood creaking, and then the presence is gone. eyes screwed shut, renjun stays flat against the wall until he's sure it's safe. something clatters to the floor, and he sucks in a deep breath before opening his eyes.

a book lies on the ground, just thin enough to slide through the gap.

renjun moves on trembling legs, throwing a puzzled glance at the space between the boards. distantly, he wonders why he hadn’t heard glass breaking, but the confusion is quickly washed away by the anticipation flickering at his fingertips.

deeming it safe, he picks up the book gingerly. he can read, so he knows that he must have had books at some point, but he can't quite remember when. from the warmth of his cheeks and the fluttering of his heart as his hands brush across the cover, he thinks he might have loved them.

the book is well-loved, as is evident through the cracks in the spine and the odd creases in some pages. he holds it close to his chest for a moment. the frozen blood clogged in his veins at the sound of another person slowly thaws. hints of a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips, renjun opens the cover.

the pages are bright white, but he doesn't mind.

❀❀❀

jeno returns the next week-- and the next, and the next. renjun is hesitantly growing accustomed to the clockwork rapping of knuckles against wood as a new way to track time.

the book is beyond wonderful. it's a fictional story-- renjun assumes, though he's not sure he would know the difference-- about a young girl on a quest to save her grandfather's farm from a sinister witch. renjun drinks up the adventure flowing off the pages like a man caught for years under the scorching desert sun.

he clings to the exhilaration.

the more he loses himself between pieces of paper, utterly absorbed in worlds where the seasons shift and the protagonists are strong-willed and stubborn-hearted, the more renjun can feel something settling in his bones-- and something else melting at the base of his skull.

the ink on the pages stokes embers in his heart that he didn't know he harbored. they come aglow, lit by tales of courage and strength through hardship.

"why don't you ever leave?" renjun thinks jeno is leaning against the wall, but he can't tell. he's never worked up the nerve to look through the gap when he visits. despite his politeness, jeno’s underlying question rings through the air louder than the screaming storm.

_what are you afraid of?_

it's still too dangerous to let his guard down, stakes too high to rely on anything but himself and the bright white void.

 _won't you freeze out there, in the middle of the storm?_ renjun wants to ask, but his vocal cords strain, the muscles in his tongue chilled stiff at the words. he cringes at the sound of footsteps pacing in front of his door, biting his lip until the echo is swallowed up under the howling wind.

"i'm sick." he croaks instead, looking at his hands. they don't shake. they itch.

isn't he?

jeno leaves him a thicker book this time, barely able to cram it through the sliver of empty space. renjun hopes he hears the _thank you_ bubbling up from his throat.

this week's book has ‘a guide to the constellations’ scrawled in flowery writing across the front cover. it doesn't seem to be fiction, something about the title tasting like copper underneath his tongue. eagerly, renjun peels back the first page and dives in.

it sounds magical, pinpricks of light glittering in an inky black sky. he squints at the diagrams, odd shapes and lines decorating the page. he can't conceptualize the idea of constellations, but the whimsicality of it all purrs between his heartstrings and twists ribbons around his spinal cord.

somehow, the world outside renjun's window grows even vaster. yearning blossoms behind his eyes as he stares wistfully through the glass.

renjun adores reading about the stars. they're probably beautiful.

he'd love to see them, someday.

❀❀❀

"why _can't_ i leave?"

renjun dares to speak, and the temperature in the room drops several degrees. he suppresses a shiver. there's an edge of determination to his spirit that he didn't have before, something blooming just below his ribcage.

his mother frowns at him. the rusty metal of a key in her back pocket glints in the light, and renjun's mouth runs dry.

"don't be stupid, boy. you know the answer."

renjun clenches his fists on the table as she leaves, watching his fingernails scrape crescent moons into his palms. it may be his imagination, but he could swear the stems in the vase have grown a little greener.

"no," he says to the empty air, "i don't think i do."

❀❀❀

for the first time in years, renjun feels warmth building in the tips of his fingers.

the embers sticking to his core have erupted into flames, chipping away at the sheets of ice dividing his brain matter into pieces. the breathtaking stories, the quiet company of jeno below his window, the thrum of urgency against his skin-- it all amplifies the resolve welling up in renjun's heart.

there's more to the world than these white walls. renjun is sure of it. he can feel it in the dripping water sliding down his brainstem, in the way blood flows a little easier through his veins. he sees it in his mother's eyes, that tinge of apprehension when renjun raises his voice a bit louder than he would've dared months earlier, growing unafraid of taking up space in the world.

she's colder than ever, but renjun is learning to shield himself from the frostiness trying to freeze his own heart.

when he runs a bath, water ripples around his fingertips. the shrieking winds from the incessant blizzard outside his prison cell seem to quiet, perhaps intimidated by the thawing of renjun's spirit. he still paces around the room, but no longer out of a sheer desperation to convince himself that he's alive. rather, he relishes in the croak of floorboards submitting to his weight, bending under the strength of his presence. his hands have lost that ghostly blur at the edges, his own image solidifying in the window's reflection. at times, he catches himself humming a tune jeno has whistled outside the window, notes climbing out of his throat with increasing confidence.

this week's book is about flowers.

renjun takes the book directly from jeno's hands this time, instead of cowering in the corner and waiting for it to drop. he can't see the boy behind the glass, but their fingers brush in the exchange. renjun's breath snags behind his lips at the sensation. his hands do not shake.

somehow, despite the winter chill, jeno's hands are warm.

jeno sits quietly as renjun flips through the pages, as is customary of their little rendezvous. silence stretches between them before jeno taps twice at the window, the signal that he's leaving. fire burns in the back of renjun's throat, something unrecognizable simmering at the bottom of his stomach. before he knows it, he throws himself forward and knocks on the wood.

"my name is renjun." he says at long last, the words floating from his tongue like steam from a kettle. if he reaches up, he could wave his hand through them.

"charmed to finally meet you, renjun." he can almost hear the smile in jeno's voice, though it's a phenomenon he can only understand through the affectionate words of authors hidden behind thin paper. regardless, it's a deep, pleasant sound-- much more soothing to the ear than the sickly sweet drone of his mother's voice as she grips his face just a fraction too tight.

jeno speaks again, smooth words phasing through the barrier between them, before tapping twice and disappearing into the storm.

"what are you afraid of, renjun?"

that night, renjun's finger digs a little too hard into one of the swirls of white on the wall. chalky paint crumbles into his palm. the yellow-tipped petal of a sunflower lies beneath it, sloppy brushstrokes the unmistakable sign of a child with a vision. renjun tears further into the wall, revealing the deep red tingeing the edge of a flower.

there's a memory there. it's closer than ever.

though the colors in the book are faded, they seem to bleed more and more vibrant hues the further he reads. the beauty of flora extends far beyond the muted shades or the elegant shapes of each carefully crafted petal.

every flower has a meaning to it, a hidden message cradled within their blossoms. some symbolize faith, others represent love, and still others exude perseverance, or friendship, and the list goes on for miles. what an endearing thing about human nature, to attribute such vibrant qualities to simple nature.

somewhere, water pools around a certain memory.

heart lodged behind his jaw, renjun flips through the book, scouring for the flower in his mind’s eye, green stalks wilting in an empty glass. sliding his finger down the page, he finally lands on it.

_snowdrops: the first flower to bloom when winter succumbs to spring. though toxic to humans and animals, the pearly white petals are pure and beautiful, like the snow they emerge from. this small, fragile flower symbolizes hope, rebirth, and new warmth. it is the flower of fresh innocence and new beginnings. it is the sign of overcoming obstacles in the pursuit of a better life, and warmer days ahead._

toxic, a defensive edge buried beneath sweet innocence. a vessel for hope, for new beginnings.

renjun thinks of the vase that used to sit on his nightstand, moved to the kitchen table once he asked one too many questions. perhaps they were never meant to bloom, but he was.

"i'm not afraid anymore, jeno."

renjun leaves the book splayed open on the floor that night. he no longer feels the need to hide from his mother. she has no authority over him anymore. renjun suspects that this final epiphany was always hidden within the unborn blooms of the snowdrops, a secret his mother tried to stifle for years.

he feels the last of his sense of obligation to her, the ultimate thread tying him to this place, whisked away by the wind. the air seems to be on his side these days, a gentle breeze fueling the liquid flames that his heart pumps through his body.

renjun's eyes flutter closed. the last line on the page marinates in his mind, rolling between his lips and sinking into the warming flesh of his fingertips.

_it is the courage to leave it all behind._

renjun will remember that next time.

❀❀❀

"i'm leaving."

renjun is eighteen and tired of living in someone else's nightmare.

he doesn't ask for permission this time because he doesn't need it-- doesn't _want_ it. he has no desire for acceptance from the woman in front of him, the imposter of a mother who froze him in time and ushered in the wailing storm.

her shoulders jerk, jaw setting sternly as she draws herself up to her full height. renjun bites back a satisfied smile at the sight of her hands, bony and trembling with rage.

"oh? but that's impossible, renjun." the woman's sugary sweet smile deforms her face, venom dripping down her chin and crystalizing over her collarbones. "you're too sick to leave. ah, your memory was always so delicate, wild imagination spinning such tall tales and flimsy lies.” she pastes sympathy over her eyes to mask the rage, hands stretching towards renjun's face to remind him of his place. “you spend every day bedridden because you're too frail for the world, _darling._ "

renjun’s entire body burns. what was once an itch, a subtle inkling that things were not as he thought they were, that perhaps his reality was nothing more than a hellish mirage dangled in front of his eyes, bursts into full-fledged flames. they sear across his skin and erupt behind his wild eyes, creeping into his voice as he speaks, strong and clear.

"that's not right."

her tone had almost snagged him again, had almost vanquished the flames and drawn him back into her false truths. it would have worked, if not for the echo of _warmer days ahead_ beating behind his forehead.

his hands don't shake when he bats hers away, finally able to strip away the thick white paint layered over her words and uncover the maliciousness lurking in her crocodile tears.

"i'm not sick. i never was."

she may think she's got him cornered because his back is pressed to the wall, but renjun knows better. he smirks, aware that she can see his hand resting on the doorknob.

something breaks behind her eyes as the woman's entire reality liquifies around her, drenching her in the waters of her crumbling control. renjun stands tall against the world, chin jutted out in defiance. he no longer recognizes the woman raising the vase of stunted snowdrops at him. she is not his mother-- at least, not anymore.

renjun doesn't flinch, not even when the vase shatters on the door just above his head. he stares at the flowerless stems scattered across the tile, except--

the one nearest to him has a shimmer of white peeking from the pale bulb. he watches it blossom from the confines of the stem, finally freed from the glass that held it prisoner all these years.

it's gorgeous. hope builds in renjun's throat as the smooth, velvety petals catch the flickering fluorescent lights of the kitchen. this flower is the calm soothing his mind, the happiness dancing just beyond his fingertips.

the blindingly beautiful color of the snowdrops makes renjun realize that this whole time his world has been draped not in white, but in gray.

a ghost of a laugh hovers on his lips as blood trickles down his temple. when he touches his cheekbone where phantom nails once cut deep, his fingertips come away red. he grins. it's the most color he's seen in years.

_it is the courage to leave it all behind._

renjun twists the doorknob beneath his hand, drowning out the woman's bloodcurdling wails as she hurls anything she can get her hands on at his head. he doesn't have to turn to see the tremors ravaging her body, the dizziness clouding her vision, the ice wrapped around her heart.

renjun bolts into the life outside his prison with blood smeared across his forehead and hysterical laughter bursting from his lips and he's never felt so _alive._

the door was open this whole time. he just never had the strength to try the handle.

sure, the wind is biting at first. icicles slice up his bare soles, frostbite creeping around his bones and flirting with his veins. but as renjun sprints further and further away from the nightmare, something shifts. the frozen ground begins to melt under the pounding of his feet, lush grass and fresh soil thawed at long last. shrubs and trees sprout all around him, vision bursting with vibrant colors.

renjun runs toward his innocence, toward the promise of new beginnings pledged to him by the unfurling of delicate petals on gray, gray, _gray_ tile floor. he tips his head back and laughs to the night sky, singing his love to the constellations. he relishes in the warm wind tousling his hair, the chirping of birds and rustling of trees that he had only read about from books smuggled through prison walls.

the forest welcomes him like the child it never had. with open arms, this new mother whispers lullabies into his ear, weaving tales of a breathtaking life-- of soft days spent beside bubbling brooks and adventures hidden at the ends of gnarled tree branches and the freedom of running through fields with nothing but his shadow chasing him.

when he finally trips, a bed of flowers cushions his fall, long stems winding over him like a second skin. renjun watches in awe as the blossoms burst open in front of his eyes. he brushes a fingertip over one of the snowy white petals in this sea of young snowdrop flowers, a half-sob caught behind the smile on his lips. winter is over.

spring has come for renjun at last.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading !!! i could do my usual rambling about the fic and my writing process here but i think i'll leave most of this up to whatever you want to take from it ^^ but if you have any questions i Love To Talk and will gladly do it. a lot!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! i had so much fun writing this and the zine looks absolutely stunning <3 please let me know what you thought, comments/kudos are my Brain Food <3
> 
> twitter: [pixeljunnie](https://twitter.com/pixeljunnie)  
> curiouscat: [pixinoa](https://curiouscat.me/pixinoa)


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